A Perfect Fit
by KellieKat
Summary: He thought she was absolutely perfect; it had simply never occurred to him that she might be so insecure. A series of one-shots.
1. A Perfect Fit

Derek Morgan shook his head as he flashed a bemused smile at the woman parading around in front of him, teetering ever so slightly on what seemed like the millionth pair of shoes she'd tried on that day.

"They're beautiful, Garcia," he said yet again, though he'd barely glanced at her latest selection. The pair had been shopping all morning, and he was beginning to feel like a broken record: she'd try on a pair of sky-high, brightly colored heels (usually featuring bows, straps, sparkles, or all of the above), he'd tell her how lovely they were, and she'd mutter under her breath for a moment before heading back to the rack. Somewhere in all that muttering, she'd talked herself into buying six new pairs of shoes from three different stores, which Derek was now carrying. Though he never minded spending the day with his favorite girl, her whole routine was starting to feel more than a little monotonous.

As Penelope found herself a department store chair and set about undoing the shoes' buckles, Derek adjusted Garcia's purse on his shoulder, shifted the colorful shopping bags to one hand and wandered over towards a rack of dresses. The frock that had caught his attention was made of a beautiful baby blue fabric printed with tiny white polka dots. He could absolutely see his Baby Girl wearing it, and the look that flashed in her eyes as she padded barefoot across the aisle towards him told him she could, too.

"Morgan, what're you doing?" She asked, crossing her arms and trying her best to look annoyed. He couldn't help but smirk as he noticed her adorably pink toenails. "I told you I just wanted to shop for shoes today! These aren't shoes," she reminded him with a gesture towards the rack of beautiful dresses.

"I know they're not, Baby Girl, but how about you try it on anyway?" He suggested with a grin.

Penelope could feel panic surging through her and hoped to God it wasn't showing on her face. There was a reason she only ever asked Derek to join her when she was shoe shopping; the last thing she wanted was Mr. Sex Appeal waiting outside the dressing room while she tried on a dress that she was sure would be anything but flattering.

"Aww, Sugar, you know I could never afford that brand," she insisted, feeling rather proud of herself for coming up with such a plausible excuse. "I may be a goddess, but my salary's a little more _down-to-earth_."

"It's on sale," Derek countered, waggling his eyebrows.

 _Crap_.

Penelope let out a shaky breath as she realized there was no escape. She bit her lip as she stepped past Morgan and searched for her size. This was going to be _so_ embarrassing.

"You don't have to come," she said weakly as she slipped her feet back into her own shoes and headed for the closest dressing room.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," Derek joked, albeit a little half-heartedly. Something was definitely wrong with Garcia, and he was beginning to regret asking her to try on the dress; he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. As she headed for the fitting room, he hung back and grabbed the dress in a size smaller and a size larger than the one she'd picked up. He'd been shopping with his mother and sisters enough times to know that dress sizes were anything but consistent, and he didn't want to have to come back in search of a different size.

Penelope was highly disappointed to find the fitting rooms completely vacant. She'd been hoping for a long line so she could simply tell Derek she didn't feel like waiting. With a resigned sigh, she slipped into the closest room and shimmied out of her own shoes and dress before reaching for the pretty blue one.

She had to admit that Derek had pretty good taste. If it weren't for the high price tag, this was definitely a dress she'd pick out for herself: three-quarter length sleeves, that beautiful blue color, and the subtle whimsy of the polka dots all screamed _Penelope_. Still, she hated trying on new clothes. There was no torture quite like picking out a cute new outfit only to discover it made you look like the Pillsbury Doughboy.

With a final grimace, she unzipped the new dress and slipped it over her head, hoping she'd be lucky enough for it to fit. To her horror, however, the skirt clung terribly to her thunder thighs and the sleeves were skin-tight. Her breasts and butt both looked dangerously close to ripping the seams right out, and her flabby stomach was on prominent display through the clingy fabric. The final straw, however, was when she discovered that the zipper wouldn't come up past her fleshy hips. Tears of shame and disappointment pooled in her eyes, and her breath came in short, shaky pants. The image in the mirror was horrible, but she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away.

"Penelope?" Derek's concerned voice from outside the door only magnified her horror, and she couldn't stop her shaky breaths from escalating into quiet sobs.

"Penelope, I'm coming in, okay?" He said gently, and Penelope's eyes widened as she realized she'd failed to lock the door in her haste to get this ordeal over with.

"Oh, God, no, please, don't," she stammered, but Morgan was already in the door, holding her close and whispering softly as he tried to still her violently shaking shoulders.

"Shhhh," he said softly, "You're okay, Penelope. It's fine. Everything's okay."

"No," she stammered roughly as she tried to pull out of his arms. "Please, Derek, just leave."

"I don't think so, Baby Girl," he said gently. He sat down in the small chair in the corner of the dressing room and pulled a squirming, protesting Penelope into his lap. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

Penelope's cheeks burned with embarrassment as she felt his strong, muscular legs underneath her, knowing he could feel her fleshy butt and thighs on his lap and could see how the dress refused to zip. She gave up squirming and instead tried to sit as still as possible, knowing she must feel impossibly heavy on Derek's lap. "I can't believe you're seeing me like this," she whispered as her sobs began to subside.

Realization dawned on Derek and suddenly it all made sense: Penelope's insistence to only try on shoes, her obvious discomfort when he suggested the dress, and now her meltdown when the dumb thing didn't fit. He thought she was absolutely perfect; it had simply never occurred to him that she might be so insecure. "Oh, Garcia," he said quietly, wrapping his arms tightly around her in a hug. "Stand up, Baby Girl."

Penelope anxiously complied, and Derek stood up as well. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, staring at the ground to avoid looking at Morgan or the mirror, and was caught completely off guard when she felt Derek start to peel the dress off her shoulders and down her hips.

"God, no, please," she protested as her tears threatened a repeat performance, but he ignored her and continued to tug the dress off. When she felt the fabric pool around her ankles, she stepped out of the dress, still not meeting Derek's eyes in the mirror.

"Screw this dress," he said with quiet indignation as he tossed it into the corner of the room. Penelope gave a soft, shaky laugh.

"I swear, Derek," she began, trying to keep her tone light but failing miserably, "if you say 'it's not you, it's the dress,' I might smack you."

Derek grinned and stepped a little closer to Penelope. "Trust me, Garcia," he whispered seductively, "it's _definitely you_."

Penelope gasped in disbelief as she felt his obvious arousal pressed against her behind. She was a fat, blubbering mess - how the heck was he turned on by this?

"You're _beautiful_ , Penelope," he assured her, "and incredibly sexy."

"But-" she stammered, but Derek interrupted her with a laugh.

"Oh, yeah, it's pretty phenomenal," he said with an appreciative glance at her behind, "just like the rest of you. You don't have to believe me right now, Baby Girl," he added when he saw the doubtful look on her pretty face, "But you _are_ obligated to let me convince you."

"Oh yeah?" She challenged, and Derek's heart soared as he saw the light begin to flicker back into those beautiful brown eyes.

"Definitely."

Penelope turned around in his arms and spent a moment just staring into his eyes, searching for any hint that he was being less than sincere. To her slight surprise, he seemed absolutely convinced that she was the sexiest thing on the planet. She gave him a small but seductive smile as her confidence began to return.

"Let's get out of here, then, Hot Stuff," she purred, reaching for her own dress and slipping into it without breaking eye contact. "I think you've got some _convincing_ to do back at my place."

Derek laughed deeply and watched as she zipped up her dress and stepped into her shoes.

"Hey, Penelope," he said softly when she was ready to go.

When she looked up, she didn't have a chance to respond before Derek was pressing his lips against hers, kissing her like she'd never been kissed before, like a man who could barely keep his hands off of her.

She'd never felt sexier in her life.

Thank God the dress hadn't fit.


	2. Arms and All

**A/N: This story is now a series of unrelated one-shots centered around the same theme. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Penelope Garcia had never been so unhappy to see her team. After all, her BAU coworkers were her family; she worried herself senseless whenever they were out of town on a case. She loved each and every one of her teammates in a unique but meaningful way, and she knew they loved her, too.

At the moment, thought, Penelope wanted nothing more than to turn right around on her five inch sparkly heels and leave before they noticed that she was here.

No such luck.

She watched in horror as Derek Morgan stood from his seat with unrivaled grace and walked in her direction, maneuvering easily between the handful of couples already on the dance floor, his eyes fixed on hers and an impossibly white grin on his face.

It was certainly not lost on Penelope how amazing Derek looked tonight, not that that was anything out of the ordinary. Tonight, though, was decidedly different. The FBI Christmas Ball called for a slightly different standard of appearance than did hunting UNSUBS, and Derek had stepped up the plate beautifully: his goatee was neatly trimmed, his tuxedo fit him absolutely perfectly, and as he approached her, Penelope could practically see her reflection in the shine of his shoes as she conspicuously avoided eye contact.

"You look amazing, Baby Girl," Derek purred, taking in her appearance appreciatively. Her deep red ballgown hugged every delicious curve perfectly. Her beautiful arms were on display tonight, and Derek realized he didn't think he'd ever seen her bare arms, what with her usual colorful cardigans. She'd even swapped her glasses for contact lenses, giving him an even better view than usual of her expressive brown eyes.

At least, it would given him a better view if she would look up from the ground.

"Hey," Derek murmured softly, his voice laced with concern, lifting her chin ever-so-gently until she was looking into his eyes and placing a hand on the soft exposed skin of her arm. She shuddered, slightly and apparently involuntarily, at his touch and his brow furrowed immediately. He was a profiler; he knew the signs and symptoms of self-consciousness, he'd just never seen them played out so vividly in Penelope.

"C'mere," he said after a moment. He took Penelope's hand in his and led her through the crowd and back into the foyer from which she'd come rather than towards the BAU table with the rest of the team.

When he spotted a small wooden bench near the door, Derek guided her towards it and sat down. After a moment's hesitation, Penelope joined him on the bench. She shivered almost undetectably when he took her hands in his. Most people wouldn't have notice, but Derek Morgan was both profiler and Penelope's best friend - it was both his career and his _duty_ to notice such things.

"You cold, Goddess?"

"N- I- Um, I uh, forgot my sweater," she muttered dully, staring at anything other than Derek's face or the pair's entwined hands.

Derek blinked slowly before he realized that she was seriously going with this lame excuse. He knew his Baby Girl too well for her to get away with that nonsense: Penelope Garcia didn't stutter, she didn't avoid eye contact, and she most certainly didn't forget any of her crucial accessories.

Unimpressed, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and said in a serious tone, "Tell me what's wrong, Penelope." He had a sinking feeling that he knew, and while he hated seeing her worry needlessly like this, he knew she needed to tell him herself before he could start changing her mind.

Penelope had not been expecting this sudden change of tone. Just who did he think he was, practically _ordering_ her to spill her guts to him? "Yo-you can't _make_ me-" she started to stammer, but Derek cut her off quietly.

"You're right, I can't make you," he agreed, surprising her a bit, "But I wish you would talk to me, sweetheart. I don't like seeing you like this."

 _Neither do I_ , Penelope thought meanly, tensing a little as she thought about how atrocious she knew she looked tonight. She wished she'd just stayed home, and was about to tell Derek as much, then storm out the door, when she looked up. Something about the look of deep-rooted caring and concern in his eyes cut straight through to her heart, and suddenly tears were spilling down her face, probably streaking her makeup and making her look even worse than before.

"Oh, God, Derek," she said shakily, her voice masked slightly by tears, "I tore my sweater."

For a moment, he was very confused - all this over a sweater? - but then she kept talking.

"I was getting out the car and my sweater got caught on something - I don't know what - but it tore, like, a giant hole in it, and obviously I couldn't wear it, so I just went without it. I mean, I know I usually cover my arms, but tonight was supposed to be special, you know? But then I was coming in and the doors are glass so I could see my reflection and my arms - they just looked so _big,_ kind of like the rest of me, and then I came in, and I was already feeling bad, but then I saw Em and JJ, andthey'rebothjust so thin and beautiful and I'm just-" she tapered off for a moment - "and then there you were, looking so perfect, and just - _all_ of you are so . . . so _elegant_ , and I'm just - not." By the time she finished talking, Penelope's voice had raised about an octave, she'd cried off most of her makeup, and she was even more embarrassed than she'd been when she said "talk dirty to me" to Erin Strauss.

"Oh, God," she whispered, and turned away from Derek in a feeble attempt to hide. A moment later, she was startled by the gentle brush of facial hair and soft lips across the sensitive skin of her upper arm. "Wha-what are you doing?" She asked incredulously, but it was pretty obvious what Derek was doing. He was _kissing_ her _arm!_

"You are _beautiful,_ Penelope Garcia," he informed her in a rather matter-of-fact sort of voice, "Every single part of you - even your arms." A small, uncertain smile spread slowly across her face as Derek began to dry her tears gently with his calloused thumbs.

"Why don't you go wash all this silly makeup off your pretty face," Derek suggested, and Penelope let out a small giggle as he led the way towards the ladies' room, shrugged off his jacket, and found a piece of wall to lean on while he waited. When she reemerged, her face scrubbed clean but still red and blotchy from tears, Derek brushed his lips across her forehead and said, "Gorgeous as ever." Penelope gave him a tiny smile; she certainly didn't believe him, but she didn't feel like arguing.

"Now, we've got three choices here, Baby Girl," he informed her, looking into her eyes with a loving and unwavering smile. "We can head on back to your apartment, curl up in old sweats, and watch Christmas movies until you fall asleep; you could put on my jacket so you feel more comfortable; or you can head back in there and let me dance with your beautiful self, arms and all."

Penelope hesitated slightly. She was sorely tempted by his first offer, and especially by his second suggestion, since she really didn't want to miss the party. Finally, though, she said, "That jacket with this dress? You gotta be kidding." With a grin that she hoped suggested more confidence than she was feeling, she grabbed Derek's hand and headed back into the party, feeling a little less uneasy and a lot less alone.

Derek could've jumped for joy when Penelope decided to stay, and even turned down his offer to loan her his jacket. He knew she was less confident with her decision than she wanted him to think, and he knew she wasn't really convinced of her own beauty. For the moment, though, he'd take what he could get. Someday she'd know how amazing she was.

He would make sure of it.


	3. Just Dance

Just Dance

Derek twirled her across the floor gracefully and she laughed in surprise as he dipped her towards the ground, then pulled her easily back up into his arms. Their mutual trust was obvious as they danced so beautifully together, easily the most stunning couple on the floor.

From her seat across the room, Penelope sighed unhappily.

She knew she was being unfair. So what if Derek wanted to dance with Emily? Was it any of her business that they moved together so naturally? Did it really matter that he'd asked her instead of Garcia this time?

It shouldn't have - mattered, that is - but it did. Oh, it did. And so, as Morgan and Prentiss shook, shimmied, and sashayed across the floor, Garcia sat alone at an empty table - the rest of the team was mingling with other wedding guests - and sulked.

She was so lost in thought, staring daggers into her empty glass and thinking of plausible reasons to just leave, that she failed to notice approaching until Morgan was already seated next to her, inching his chair closer towards hers around the table and looking at her with obvious concern.

"Hey, Baby Boy," she said; her feeble attempt at seeming cheerful fell flat on its face. "What happened to Prentiss? Looked like you two were having fun out there."

"But _you're_ not," Derek countered. He couldn't help but notice that Penelope was avoiding eye contact, and he didn't like it. "C'mon, Baby Girl," he implored, "spill."

"It's nothing, my love," Garcia tried to assure him, looking up at last with an unconvincing smile and giving his hand a halfhearted pat. He raised his eyebrows at her lame attempt, and she just sighed. "Don't worry about it, Derek," she amended, "it's silly."

"Silly or not, if it's got you this upset, I want to fix it," he insisted. He racked his brain for anything that could have triggered such a negative response from Penelope: she'd been practically ecstatic for the happy couple during the service, she'd chatted happily all the way to the reception venue, and she'd been all smiles during dinner. What could it have possibly been? She'd seemed perfectly content until he'd-

Wait a minute.

"Penelope," he said, his voice quiet and uncertain, "are you upset that I was dancing with Emily?" She didn't respond, but she'd never been good at hiding her emotions, and he could see the unspoken "yes" written all over her beautiful face.

There was a long silence until finally Garcia muttered, "I'm being dumb, I know."

"No, Baby Girl," Derek said gently as he took her perfectly manicured hand in both of his calloused ones. "I'm just trying to understand. Why was it a problem that I asked Prentiss to dance?"

Still looking down, Penelope sighed and whispered, "You used to ask me sometimes."

Derek was absolutely gobsmacked. That was true, of course, but he'd stopped asking when he realized she was going to turn him down every time. He figured maybe he was making her uncomfortable by continuing to ask.

"Penelope, sweetness," he said quietly, tilting her chin until she was looking into his eyes, "if you wanted to dance, why didn't you just say so?"

He watched as pain flashed through her eyes. She blinked slowly and sighed softly before saying, "It's not the dancing, Derek; it's the asking." When her words were met with a completely blank stare from her favorite profiler, she realized she would have to elaborate. "It just made me feel good that you would want to ask, you know? That you would want to dance with me, to be near me. It didn't bother me that you danced with Emily so much as it did that you asked her instead of me. I mean, I understand, though. She's a way better dance partner than I would ever be." Her voice trailed off towards the end of her explanation and she refocused her gaze firmly on the white linen tablecloth to avoid looking Morgan in the eye.

"Penelope, I only stopped asking because I thought you didn't want me to ask!" He explained vehemently. "Why on _earth_ would you think Prentiss makes a better partner, mama?"

Garcia gave a low, self-deprecating laugh. In a barely audible, tear-cracked voice, she said, "Girls like me don't dance like that, Derek. I'm not agile or flexible enough for all those moves, or light enough for one of those sexy dips of yours. I'm not graceful enough to keep up, and besides - you and me, dancing together? The super sexy special agent and the overweight computer geek? We'd be the most mismatched couple on the floor."

Derek's heart broke when he heard her explanation. Why on earth did she think of herself that way? Besides the fact that she has the sharpest wit and kindest heart of any woman he knew, he was stunned that she clearly thought so little of her own appeal. God knows he didn't! No, Penelope was absolutely beautiful, more coordinated and graceful than she gave herself credit for, and absolutely the sexiest darn thing in the room! She could dance, too; he'd seen it himself when she didn't think he was watching. Her problem wasn't about body type at all (God, no, he thought her body was _completely_ perfect!) but about confidence. And he could definitely fix that.

He rose quickly from his chair, extended his hand and said, his voice thick and deep with emotion, "Stand up, Penelope."

"What?" She asked incredulously, turning over her shoulder with tears in her eyes. "Morgan, were you listing at all just now?" Nevertheless, she stood as carefully as she could and placed her hand in his absentmindedly.

"Yeah, Garcia, I was. And you know what? I don't like anybody talking about my girl the way you just talked about yourself. Penelope, you are absolutely gorgeous." She opened her mouth to argue, but he ignored her. "Beautiful. Stunning. Sexy. And exactly - _exactly_ \- my type. If I had thought you'd say yes, I would've asked you to dance before Prentiss in a heartbeat. Now c'mon, Baby Girl. I'm gonna prove you wrong."

Morgan led her gently to the dance floor just as the swinging, upbeat song faded into a slower, softer number. As the tempo of the music slowed down, Penelope's heartbeat sped up exponentially.

"Relax, Garcia," Derek whispered. She flinched as his hands ghosted across her hips, terrified he'd change his mind when he got a hands-on perspective of just how curvy she was. On the contrary, however, Derek instead flashed her a mischievous smile and squeezed her ample butt, eliciting the tiniest of squeals from a very surprised Penelope.

"You're amazing, Penelope," he informed her quietly as he returned his hands to her voluptuous hips and gripped them gently, thoroughly enjoying their softness. Goodness knows he didn't get that sort of luxury with skinny little Prentiss.

Tentatively, Penelope reached up and wrapped her arms around Derek's neck, finally daring to meet his gaze again. Much to her surprise, he didn't look uncomfortable at all. Quite the opposite, really; he looked as if he'd never felt more at home than he did here, in Penelope's arms. Her eyes widened when he leaned down and placed the softest of kisses on her lips.

"Wh-wha-" she stammered, but Derek shushed her gently. "Just doing what I should have done a long time ago. Now relax, beautiful girl. Just dance."


End file.
